Accidental Exposure
by Anansay
Summary: [GSR]—A chance meeting sets in motion a series of events that bring certain elements to light.


**TITLE: **Accidental Exposure**  
AUTHOR:** Anansay**  
SUMMARY:** GSR—A chance meeting sets in motion a series of events that bring certain elements to light. **  
RATING: **PG-13—suggestive elements  
**DISCLAIMER:** These characters are not mine. Just borrowing them.**  
AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I read a challenge on UtB and one element wormed its way into my head and begat this little rhinestone gem. It should also be noted that his is purely a work of FICTION, even in the fan_fiction_ world. This _might_ happen somewhere off screen, or my mind just might be slowky leaking out my ears... who knows? Enjoy, for what it's worth.

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**Accidental Exposure**_  
by Anansay  
February 17, 2005_

She didn't want to see it. She really didn't, at least that's what she kept telling herself.

She should have averted her eyes, she really should have. It was the polite thing to do. But she didn't. No, she'd stared directly at him. In his boxers. White ones with little yellow duckies on them.

Maybe if he'd jumped, or moved, or had done _something _to bring to light the fact that she was, basically, _gawking_ at her boss in his underwear... But he hadn't.

It seemed that the world had taken a side trip down Peculiar Lane, or perhaps Time had simply stopped, allowing her a full timeless minute to take in the glorious, albeit rather humorous sight of Grissom in nothing but boxers, with a telltale thickening forming in the frontal region.

Then Time had jerked itself back together with a sickening lurch as Grissom suddenly squawked and Sara squeaked. Shutting her eyes so tightly they hurt, she spun around, grabbed for the wall, and practically yanked herself out of the men's change room as though some force might tempt her back in against her will.

Sara beelined it for the exit pushing the doors open so hard they hit the concrete wall with a shocking crack, coming crashing closed again. She took the one step down as though it weren't there and marched hastily toward her car. She had no idea where she was going or even what she was doing. It was mid-shift, cases still needed her attention, and Greg still needed his hand held. All she knew was the only place she could go and be relatively interruption-free would be her car with its tinted windows.

She settled herself in, turned on the radio full blast and slammed her head back into the headrest, shutting her eyes tight and finally breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest and her armpits felt sticky but it was nothing compared to the utter humiliation that poured over her. It wasn't she who ought to feel humiliated. It wasn't _her _underwear 'someone' had seen, but it was _his _underwear, on _him_, that _she _had seen. And even though she'd fantasized about seeing Grissom in such dimished attire, it certainly wasn't in the men's change room at work, and it certainly wasn't at a time in their relationship when homicide was high on her list—_his _homicide.

Of course, that thought was currently being nullified by another foremost image—something rather upright and rigid in its incessant assault on her already tumultuous being.

Another deep breath, this one held in and then let out slowly, if only to ease the mind-choking, body-numbing effect of shock. She wondered if something like this could cause someone to experience PTSD and could she use that as an excuse to stay away from work, say for about… a year.

She hung her head. No. This was not the Sara Sidle she had taught herself to be: firm, confrontational, strong and defiant. After all, it was _just _a pair of boxers, right? She'd seen plenty of boxers, both off and on men. Even if these particular ones had been worn by Grissom, he was, after all, a man, wasn't he? And it wasn't like she was a virgin who'd never seen a penis before. She'd seen her fair share of them, touched them, tasted them, fondled them…

But she'd never seen _his _before. This particular organ whose mysterious dimensions and capabilities had haunted her dreams for such a long time that she had trouble remembering dreams that _didn't _have Grissom in them, in some form or another.

Just as she reached over to flip off the radio and return to work—blush sufficiently trained to stay low—there was a knock on her window.

She would have yelled, indeed unleashed a long piercing yell full of surprise, shock and an extreme sense of frustration, had she not just choked on her own saliva _as _she took a breath _to _yell. Her body spasming, trying to gather breath and her eyes watering, she reached over and pushed the window button. Ever so slowly the light pierced her sanctuary, flowing around Grissom's crouched shape as the window descended. Sara had to wince to see his face in the glare.

Taking one last breath to ensure the ability to speak without further humiliating herself with any chance of choking again, Sara spoke.

"Grissom?"

He looked like he wanted to say something. Lips, moving in form of words usually meant words were forthcoming. Apparently, not for this man, or not for this time. Sara watched him as though he were a curious experiment gone strangely awry. It was this sick curiosity that kept her eyes on him—again—instead of doing the right thing and looking away while he gathered himself in her presence.

In time, he did. "Um, Sara…" He'd finally managed the art of speech, and Sara almost smiled in congratulations, but she wisely kept her face expressionless. "About, um, back there…" He was leaning over, his face almost into her now fully lowered window, his hands clasped behind his back. If it weren't for the grey hair and "lines of age" on his face, he might have passed for an awkward teenager. Sara was sure if she leaned over and looked down, she'd see his feet shuffling on the pavement.

It was enough. Sara's level of discomfort rose, this time for Grissom. No one should have to see anyone with such stature as Grissom caught for words. After all, it was _her _fault for walking into the wrong door in the first place. "Listen, Grissom. _I'm _sorry. I should have paid more attention to where I was going. I, uh…" Now she struggled for words. What could she say?

_won't tell anybody..? _

_forget about it…? _

_remember it for the rest of my natural life…? _

_Cute shorts?_

She settled for, "Yeah. I need to get back to work now," and she opened the door, forcing Grissom to quickly back away. When she stood up, she found herself face to face with Grissom and it must surely have been like a mirror: her face felt as hot as his looked.

Her sunglasses were firmly in place, but Grissom had left his behind and for once Sara was seeing things in his eyes that she never thought she'd ever see in his eyes in her lifetime.

Confusion.

Uncertainty.

Unease.

His normally staid composure was nowhere to be found around this quivering mass of male flesh. It was both disquieting and compelling and she found herself unconsciously leaning toward him, invading his personal space with her body. A curiosity attracting the scientist's interest, or just a pheromone thing?

Either way Sara noticed Grissom leaning away from her, yet his feet never moved. Proof positive of his fear of her coupled with a deep-seated fascination of his own, hence his wooden feet.

"Um, Sara…"

Ever the scientist Sara examined, up close, the tiny details of her new plaything as her eyes wandered all over his face, pausing casually at his lips and then coming back up to his eyes, the entire focal point of his existence. "Yes, Grissom?"

Many words _started _to come out, their beginnings uttered only to fall flat to the ground until he settled on one word. A safe word. "Work?"

She leaned forward a bit more, her eyesight going fuzzy with proximity "Oh, I'm working…" she heard herself say in a voice very unlike her own, deeper, huskier. "A very interesting case right here… rather unusual… never seen before… highly stimulating…"

She could smell him, her face near to his. His beard brushed against her fair cheek and her eyes fluttered closed as his essence filled her senses. His chest rose and fell against hers, quick and shallow, and trying very hard _not _to touch hers.

Her balance suddenly precarious, her hands grasped his waist as she fell against him—and took his own balance from him. They tumbled backward some steps until Grissom suddenly stopped and Sara fell against him—hard. Thankfully the other car's alarm didn't go off.

Now the entire length of him was pressed against her, from their knees, pelvis, stomach and chest. And somewhere in there, something hard was poking her in her hip. At first she thought it might be his weapon—"_is that a gun in your pocket or—"—_but that thought was quickly dispelled. Her wide eyes met his with newfound knowledge and this time there was no accompanying giggle of comprehension. With her hands around his waist and his hands now on her arms, there was no way to really push herself off of him without leaning into him _more_. She was caught. And neither of them knew what to do. That was apparent in Grissom's deer-in-headlight expression.

Only one thing would save them. It was the one thing that had brought them together, had kept them together and was currently, in its many forms, now tearing them apart.

"I… have to go back to work… now," Sara said, and waited.

It took him a moment, but Grissom finally answered. "Yes." But he didn't move.

Sara was hoping he'd take the hint and gently lift her off his body. He didn't. Instead his thumbs seemed to have defied genetics and grew a brain of their own which told them to rub Sara's arms in slow, smooth circles through her thin shirt. It was framed this way in Sara's head because Grissom's face evinced absolutely no knowledge that parts of his body were working without his consent, for surely he'd never—

Then again, there was the ever present evidence of his 'growing' reaction to the pressing situation. Perhaps it could merely be attributed to biology and nothing to do with any _certain _stimuli that might be causing such a strained uprising.

Any other time and any other place, the scientist in Sara would _definitely _have created some sort of experiment in which to test her hypotheses. But this was neither the time nor the place and, yeah, work _really _needed to be attended to.

"Grissom, um, would you… you know… help me up?" she asked him, fighting the urge to coquettishly bite down on her bottom lip. _Seeing as you're already quite up…_

Grissom cleared his throat. _Not_ a good thing to do when in such cramped quarters, Sara thought, and winced as more lurid images flashed through her mind.

_Alright Grissom. We're going to play a little game here. Now—Cough!_

Sara shut her eyes as a soft moan escaped her mouth. And then she stopped, realizing exactly what she had just done, and the consequences thereof.

She would… just forget about it. That's right. As though she hadn't just moaned aloud when Grissom coughed thus pressing his erection even more strongly against her thigh. Pretended lascivious images had _not _almost blinded her to their present location.

"Alright. I'm leaving. I'm going inside. To work," she said, and leaned back to bring _herself _to an upright position. No matter what happened, no matter what she felt, she'd just do what needed to be done and march right back into that building as though nothing even remotely sexual had occurred in the middle of a freaking parking lot!

It was pure torture to feel Grissom's hands sliding down her arms as she peeled herself off him. Pure torture indeed as the full effect—and length—of 'that' was dragged across her thigh to her other thigh, passing that part of her body that she dared not think about. At least not until she was securely—and privately!—tucked in her bed.

When she was finally standing on her own two feet with a good distance between herself and Grissom's body, she looked up at him, nodded and slowly turned around and, yep, marched into the building. She ignored the wobble of her legs as they threatened to collapse beneath her. She took deep breaths and thought mean thoughts of what she'd like to do to certain suspects.

It didn't work quite as well as she'd wanted it to.

When she got to the door she risked a look back and found Grissom standing by the same car, his face turned toward hers. The distance didn't allow for details but he didn't look _too _upset.

The last thought she allowed herself about the entire affair was how it had begun with a simple glimpse of Grissom in his underwear.

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THE END


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